


you're spring to me

by SD_Ryan



Series: Stucky Sugar Daddy [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Explicit Consent, First Time, Just bros being bros, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, also featuring see-it-if-you-squint daddy kink, bisexual!Bucky, bucky has a sexual crisis, but comes out pretty happy on the other side, clear communication in bed, sex is awkward, sugar daddy!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/pseuds/SD_Ryan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Jesus.” Steve dives down, stealing Bucky’s breath with a kiss. Bucky slips his hand under the elastic and palms Steve’s ass, pressing close. He knows he’s just invited something he doesn’t wholly understand; he’s got absolutely no experience when it comes to sex with a guy. But he trusts Steve to take care of him—one way or another, it’s what Steve’s been doing for as long as Bucky’s known him.</i><br/>When Bucky realizes his roommate's brother has been hitting on him, he thinks maybe he can get on board with the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're spring to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/gifts), [Ragazza_Guasto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/gifts).



> This work is entirely indebted to luninosity and her real-life story of a college boy/sugar daddy in the making. For the full experience, you should definitely read it here: http://luninosity.tumblr.com/post/132001415979/luninosity-overhead-while-walking-to-the

 

You touch me

I hear the sound of mandolins

You kiss me

With your kiss my life begins

Daddy, you’re spring to me

All things to me

 

“Wild is the Wind” by Nina Simone

 

...

Once the thought’s planted, it’s impossible to uproot. Like a hangnail he can’t stop picking at, he worries it over and over until it’s all he sees when he falls asleep, all he thinks about when he’s awake. Does he want this? Could he do this? The answer, if the sudden influx of explicit dude-on-dude fantasies invading his brainpan is any indication, is decidedly yes. So when Steve shows up unannounced a few days after that revelatory conversation with Nat, Bucky’s already spent hours imagining how he might taste, how it might feel to touch him.

“Hey,” he says, thrown by the unexpected convergence of fantasy-Steve and real-life-Steve. “Um, Peter’s not in. He’s at the library with MJ. Said he’d be gone awhile.”

“Oh. Too bad for baby bro, I guess.” Steve smiles, holding up a pack of craft beer and a pizza. “You hungry? There’s plenty here.”

“Uh … sure. Please come in.” Bucky swings the door open, cringing at his weird formality. “Can I get you a drink?”

Steve laughs, plucking a bottle from the carrier. “Brought my own, thanks. You want one?”

“Oh, right. Sure.” What is wrong with him? It’s like he’s turned into some dork robot from the planet awkward. “Game’s on. You wanna …?” He leaves the question hanging as he plops himself on the far edge of the couch, worried maybe Steve wants to watch _Dancing with the Stars_ or some shit like that.

Steve pops the cap on the beer and passes it over. “Great! How’re we doing?”

Right. He’s spent hours on this couch playing video games and watching football with Steve. That was before he thought there might be something more going on with his roommate’s brother, of course, but what the actual fuck. Just because Steve might be into dudes doesn’t mean the guy’s had a personality transplant. What is wrong with him?

They eat in silence, eyes on the screen, and Bucky wonders if it’s obvious how strictly he’s maintaining his position on the end of the couch, practically hanging over the armrest to keep from brushing up against Steve. It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch Steve; the opposite, actually. His fingers itch to slide up Steve’s thigh, to mess up the careful order of his hair. He wants to tug Steve’s tie off, slide him out of that starched suit.

And how fucking weird is that?

He’s never been into guys, but ever since Nat exclaimed he was—quote— _Gay for Steve!_ , there’s something undeniably appealing about the idea of touching him, kissing him. But what if he’s wrong? What if all the signals he thinks he’s been reading are just an extension of Steve’s protective, brotherly instincts? What if he sees Bucky as some poor college kid who could use a hand? And all the meals he’s paid for and the textbooks he’s bought and the gas money he slips them here and there are just the guy’s way of taking care of people. There’s every chance Bucky has made a huge mistake, and if he acts on these strange new desires, he’s going to make a fool of himself and royally fuck up what is currently a pretty sweet deal.

Appetite gone, he huffs in frustration and tosses his half-finished slice into the open box, chugging the last of his beer.

It’s more than that! It has to be. He’s noticed the casual touches, the way Steve smiles at him, all warmth and affection. He’s felt Steve’s arm slung protectively around his shoulders, his large frame steering Bucky through crowded spaces. He’s caught Steve watching him, a bashful grin plucking at the corners of his mouth when discovered. Bucky hasn’t imagined these things. They’re real. They happened. He misunderstood their meaning at the time, but in retrospect, it all seems glaringly obvious.

“Hey, man, you okay over there? You look like you’re about to have an aneurism.”

Bucky looks over, startled. “Oh,” he says and loosens his death grip on his thighs. “Yeah, I’m just … thinking.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Steve teases, his beautiful fucking face shining with mirth. Bucky feels like he might throw up. “Hey, _hey_ , I’m sorry. It’s okay, Buck. You want to talk about it?”

Does he want to talk about the way his brain shorts out when Steve calls him Buck? Or how he feels like his skin is stretched too tight now that Steve is sliding toward him, his whole attention focused this way? Does he want to talk about the way Steve’s bottom lip looks positively edible when he worries it like that or how the flecks of light in his blue eyes could be little floating universes? No. No, he doesn’t want to talk about any of that.

When Bucky doesn’t answer, Steve sighs, pulling out the fucking nuclear attack of his golden retriever puppy face. “You know you can trust me, right? I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs. “It’s just, I’m a little mixed up about some stuff right now.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“It’s hard to—” He sighs. This is impossible. “Look, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal.”

“Anything.” Anxiety curls in his stomach. Here goes nothing. “Are you into guys?”

Steve goes still, expression unreadable. Slowly, he places his bottle down on the coffee table and shifts his whole frame toward Bucky. “Yeah,” he says, matter of fact.

Bucky has his answer now, but it’s done nothing to relieve the coiled knot of tension in his belly. Steve likes guys. Whether he likes Bucky is another matter entirely.

“I don’t mind talking about this. But are you asking because you want to know about me, or is there more?” Bucky doesn’t answer, has no idea what to say, really. Steve ducks his head, speaking soft and slow, like Bucky’s some kind of wounded, cornered animal. “Are you trying to say you’re into guys?”

“I’m not gay. I mean, I like girls.” He plucks at a loose thread spilling from a hole in his jeans. “But—”

Bucky’s face is hot, his mouth dry. He can’t look at Steve, can’t bring himself to discover what fresh humiliation might be waiting for him. Even so, he can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, a lilting note of encouragement.

“But …?”

Steve hasn’t shut him down yet, and this isn’t going anywhere if he doesn’t make a move, so he braces himself to lay it out there, heart hammering. “I think. I mean, I’ve _been_ thinking. And maybe I have this all wrong, so you tell me, because _Jesus_ that would be so embarrassing, but … if you were. If you—” Bucky gulps down a breath, clasping his hands together to keep them from shaking. “I know it’s weird because Peter is your brother and I’m like, just, around. So maybe that’s all it is. But if it’s not. If it’s more, and you actually …” He’s babbling, he knows, but he can’t stop himself. “I could. I mean, I’d like to try. With you.” His breath is shallow, a thin rasp between the staccato pulse of his words. “Not just any guy, but … you know, _you_.”

He knows, he’s sure Steve will let him down with a gentle rebuff. After that shit-show how could he not? He can feel it in the silence between them: sinking rejection, cold and heavy. Maybe the couch will swallow him and he can just forget about this whole thing.

“Are you saying you’re interested in me?”

Bucky looks up, shocked by the hint of eagerness he hears. Steve doesn’t look like he’s ready to give the I’m-sorry-but-I-don’t-see-you-that-way speech. He looks … hopeful. When he realizes Steve’s still waiting for an answer, Bucky squeaks, “Yeah?”

“Is that a question?” he asks, amused. “Bucky, I think you’re adorable, but if you can’t say it, we shouldn’t do it.”

“I—fuck. Yes. _Yes_ , I’m into you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I want … Jesus, the things I want.”

“Oh.” The purse of his mouth—not quite a smile—is subtle but so full of meaning. A blast of sunshine piercing through summertime clouds. “Well that’s … that’s perfect, actually. ‘Cause I feel the same. Maybe we can— _oomph_ —”

He’s not sure how it happens, but suddenly he’s straddling Steve’s lap with his hands in Steve’s hair and his lips pressed to Steve’s lips. He sucks the startled gasp from Steve’s mouth, moved by the memory of every wet dream he’s woken from during the past week, every fantasy that’d spilled into his waking world. For a moment, Steve doesn’t move, rigid under Bucky’s fumbling exploration. Then his hands slide around Bucky’s hips, and his mouth opens invitingly, and he’s kissing him. Steve’s kissing him. And it all feels wonderful and strange and new … and perfect.

“I was thinking we could start with a date,” Steve says between teasing little nips. “But this is good too.”

Bucky smiles against his mouth, refusing to be deterred. He wants to experience it all. Steve’s stubble scratching against his face, the solid weight of him anchored between Bucky’s thighs, the earthy, salty smell of him, and the taste of beer on his tongue—he catalogues all the ways Steve is different from a girl and finds himself turned on by every single one. Unthinking, he grinds his hips down, jolting with awareness of the biggest difference between Steve and his previous partners.

“Oh, God,” he groans, breaking away to hide his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “That’s … _fuck_.” He rocks down again, chasing the feeling of Steve’s cock hardening against his own, and whimpers. He bites down on the skin above Steve’s collar, tasting his pulse point and silencing another embarrassing moan. Steve urges him on, rocking up into him with iron hands around his hips.

“Christ, Buck,” he says, voice warbling. “When you decide on a thing, you really go after it, don’t you?”

Steve can tease him all he wants, but he’s just going to keep discovering new places to taste, new ways to draw out those breathy gasps from Steve’s throat. He nuzzles and nibbles around Steve’s chin and over his jaw. He moves south, meeting the barrier of shirt and tie, and scrabbles at the stupid fabric around Steve’s neck. “Want. You.” Tugging uselessly at the tie, he whines, “Clothes, Steve.”

Steve huffs a laugh and slides his hands under the hem of Bucky’s shirt. The glorious shock of Steve’s hands on his skin—tracing his ribs, climbing up his spine—quakes through him with a shudder.

“So impatient,” Steve murmurs. “We don’t have to do it all at once.”

But he doesn’t want to take this slow. He wants to dive in, swim to the bottom of this moment and come up gasping. He wants to know what he’s been missing—every filthy, stunning, strange, glorious bit of it—and he wants Steve to show him. He surges back to Steve’s mouth, a slick slide of tongues.

“Show me, please,” he says between kisses. “Everything. I want everything.”

Steve groans, squeezing bruises into Bucky’s sides. He pulls back enough to meet Bucky’s eyes, dark gaze a beautiful contrast to shiny pink lips. “Okay,” he says. “I can show you.”

With a startled yelp, Bucky finds himself swept from the couch and carried down the hall to his room. He clutches at broad shoulders as Steve slams the door closed with his foot. Steve lobs Bucky gracelessly onto the bed and stands back, grinning. Before this moment, if anyone had ever told him how much he would like being manhandled this way, he would have said they were fucking nuts. As it is, he’s stunned silent by the view. Steve looms, devious and commanding, like a fallen angel. Shoes toed off, tie pulled loose, suit coat tossed carelessly over a chair, Steve strips his confining layers, eyes on Bucky all the while. Bucky suffers a moment of vertigo when Steve gets down to his boxer briefs, vision narrowing to those impossibly muscled planes, that endless golden skin.

“You okay there, Buck?” he asks, kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“How are you even real?” Bucky snaps. “I can’t decide if I’m more jealous or turned on.”

A crack of laughter breaks Steve’s controlled facade, and he crumples over, chuckling against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky combs through his hair and strokes down his neck, aching to touch anywhere his hands can reach.

“God, you’re adorable,” Steve says against his belly. He looks up, meeting Bucky’s eyes with a smirk. “And you’re wearing way too many clothes.” Nudging under Bucky’s shirt, Steve plants a line of kisses from his bellybutton down to the waist of his jeans. “Let me take care of that.”

A few things run through Bucky’s mind in this moment: how desperately he needs to get out of the crushing confines of his pants, how good it feels to have Steve’s hands on him, and how slim his chances are of living up to the expectations of a dude that looks like the real-life version of some comic book superhero. But mostly, he’s thinking that Steve is a goddamn dirty tease, because apparently the guy requires five minutes to get Bucky’s fucking shirt off, accompanying the slow torture with a hundred feather-light kisses across his skin.

“Are you kidding?” he says as Steve bypasses his pants entirely and moves to the foot of the bed to peel off his socks, planting a kiss on each ankle.

“Let me enjoy this. You’re too pretty to rush.”

“I like rushing. Rushing is good.” If whining will move things along, he’s not above it. “And I’m not pretty,” he says as a blush flames across his chest.

“Oh, yes you are. Just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He plucks at the top button of Bucky’s jeans, flicking it open. “But if that particular adjective bothers you, I have others.

“Handsome.” A second button pops open.

“Sexy.” Another.

“Gorgeous.” The last.

Bucky feels light-headed as all the blood in his brain rushes south. Torturously slow, Steve takes hold of the fabric around Bucky’s waist and slides it down. Ignoring his cock as it bobs free, Steve kisses the jutting lines at Bucky’s hips, murmuring against his skin. “You’re all sorts of things, Bucky.” Each word is accompanied by a reverent press of lips as the denim slides down his legs. “Delicious. Smart. Funny. Creative. Kind.” When, at last, Bucky is naked and trembling—primed as he’s ever been—Steve settles himself between his legs, eyes dark with mischief. “But I’m not wrong,” he says, pointedly eyeing Bucky’s cock. “You are so, so pretty.”

Then it’s all wet warmth and crackling sensation as Steve closes his mouth around the tip of his cock. Bucky’s shoulders fly off the mattress and slam back down. “Oh, fuck!”

Steve clutches his hips and pulls off with a pop. “This okay?”

Momentarily confused by the loss of Steve’s gorgeous mouth, he stutters, “Wh-what? Yes. _Yes_. This is so okay.”

Beaming, Steve returns to his task, closing a hand around the base of Bucky’s cock and taking him down to the back of his throat. It’s too much, watching Steve work, lips shiny with spit, grin stretched wide. Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and lets his head fall back against the bed, lungs wheezing. If he were going to panic, he realizes through the muzzy haze of pleasure, have some sort of heterosexual existential crisis, now would be the moment. But there’s no fear or doubt trying to claw it’s way out, just contentment. His thrumming pulse, the slide of heat and pressure, the filthy sounds of sucking and stroking. As Steve swallows him down, taking him to the edge, he accepts with sort of perverse zen that this is who he is now. He’s a dude who likes sex with dudes.

Or, at least this one particular dude.

Unable to stop himself, he barks a laugh, jerking his hips and driving his cock up into Steve’s mouth. _Oops_. Coughing through his surprise, Steve pulls off and slaps the side of Bucky’s ass.

“Ouch! Hey!”

“Is something amusing?” Steve says with a scowl. “You don’t seem very focused.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says, still chuckling. “Come here.” He tugs at Steve’s arm, pulling him up and over until they’re slotted together, back in kissing distance. Bucky takes advantage of this, surging up and tasting himself on Steve. He takes a few calming breaths, not at all sorry for breaking the moment. The burst of levity has turned his eagerness into something manageable, less fraught. He feels more like himself, not some sugar-high kid bouncing off the walls. “It’s just … a week ago I was straight. Like, seriously straight. And now look at what you’ve done to me.” He kisses Steve again, taking his time, demonstrating how happy he is about this course of events.

Steve nuzzles along his chin, pulling away with a purse of his lips. “I didn’t ‘do this to you’, Bucky. You know that, right? If you’re feeling something new, it just means you’ve tapped into something that was already there.”

“I know. It’s just surreal is all.” He strokes along Steve’s sides and back, admiring the unbelievable architecture of his body. “Takes some adjusting.”

Concern crinkles across Steve’s brows. “You want to slow things down? We don’t have to do anything else.”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky says with horror. “No no no no, I do not want to slow down. I want to get you out of these—” He plucks at the elastic of Steve’s underwear. “—and see what else you have to show me.”

“Jesus.” Steve dives down, stealing Bucky’s breath with a kiss. Bucky slips his hand under the fabric and palms Steve’s ass, pressing close. He knows he’s just invited something he doesn’t wholly understand; he’s got absolutely no experience when it comes to sex with a guy. But he trusts Steve to take care of him—one way or another, it’s what Steve’s been doing for as long as Bucky’s known him.

“What do you want?” Steve asks, voice like sandpaper.

Bucky shifts his hand to Steve’s front and indulges in a few experimental strokes, sliding silky soft skin over the hard length of him. “I want whatever will feel good.”

“Oh, god.” Steve’s breath hitches as he rocks into Bucky’s hand.

The sound of Steve’s slipping control might be the best thing he’s ever heard. He tightens his grip, swiping his thumb over Steve’s slit and spreading the moisture gathered there.

“Fuck—that’s … you feel so good,” he groans. “I want to be in you, Bucky. Can I fuck you?”

Bucky freezes. The idea is both utterly terrifying and incomprehensibly enticing. “I—yes.” Scary or not, he wants it. He definitely wants it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I got you.” Steve grinds into Bucky’s hand, reaching between them to stroke Bucky’s cock, still slick from his mouth. “I’ll take care of you.”

They carry on like that, moving together, sharing sloppy, unfocused kisses until Bucky’s sure he’s going to spill his load before they have the chance to do anything else. Toes curled, heart beating out of his chest, he gasps, “Steve, we have to … I thought you wanted—”

Steve goes still, nodding his head against Bucky’s chest. “Okay, right. Next steps.” Steve pulls away suddenly, searching Bucky’s face with barely-contained panic.

Bucky’s blood runs cold. What the fuck just happened?

“You have supplies, right? Condoms? Lube?” Steve urges. “Please tell me you jack off with something other than lotion.”

“What? Yes, of course.” Bucky exhales a relieved breath as he catches onto Steve’s meaning. “Lotion … what do you think I am, thirteen?” Steve goes slack with relief, and Bucky lets loose a cackle. “Oh my god, dude, you should have seen your face!”

“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, lifting up and off of the bed. “You’d panic, too, if you knew what lotion would do to your ass. No way we were going there.”

Bucky blanches and points Steve to the nightstand drawer. He doesn’t ever want to find out what lotion might do to his ass.

Steve shucks his boxer briefs and sets the supplies down on the bed, crawling back to his previous position. He takes a pillow and guides Bucky’s hips up, sliding it underneath.

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m getting ready for a medical exam?” Bucky says it in jest, but he can’t help but feel decidedly unsexy in his anticipation.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs. “Killed the mood a bit, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine. I just—” He feels cold and exposed. He wants to be warm. “Why don’t you kiss me again? I really like you kissing me.”

Steve slots himself between Bucky’s legs, arms bracketing his head. “I really like that, too,” he says, leaning down to explore Bucky’s mouth. His attentions are tender, hips rocking at a gentle pace. Soon, Bucky feels his flagging erection perk up, and he thrusts against Steve with a slow, rough slide. They could come like this, dry humping and making out like teenagers. It’d be great—silly and fun—and he hopes to do it with Steve sometime. Maybe lots of times. But that’s not what he wants right now. Steve promised to take care of him, to make him feel good, and that’s what he wants.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m ready.”

To say it’s not what he expected would imply he’d expected anything at all. But Bucky has no context for this situation, so it’s all new: the odd feeling of Steve’s slick fingers circling his hole, the uncomfortable stretch of a single digit sliding into him, the slow-dawning warmth that follows, the fevered rush of being exposed in a way he’s never been before, the overwhelming sensation of Steve sucking him off while opening him up, the explosion of delight when Steve skims his prostate, the panic that comes with each additional finger, and the tension melting from his body as “too much, too full” transforms into a cry for more. He didn’t expect any of this. But as Steve slips his hand free, leaving him aching and wanting, he knows he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Steve slides up and hovers over Bucky, cock nudging his hole. “You tell me what you need, okay? Don’t let me hurt you.”

Bucky nods, panting through his anticipation. Steve presses forward, sliding just inside him, and Bucky sucks in a startled gasp. _Holy fuck._ He breathes through the burn, eyes pinched shut, afraid he’s made a terrible mistake.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Steve says, stroking his hair. “Breathe. Try to relax.”

Bucky swallows down his panic, and focuses on the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, the musky smell of his skin. He anchors his hands against Steve’s shoulder blades and draws another heavy breath as the stretch dissolves into something manageable and, eventually, something pleasant.

“I got you, Bucky.” He hasn’t moved past the initial thrust, and Bucky can hear the coiled tension in his voice. “Can you look at me? Please, let me see you.”

Steve’s golden glow greets him when he opens his eyes, adoration snuffing out what’s left of his nerves. “I’m good,” he says. “You got me.”

Relief breaks across Steve’s face and he nods. He rocks forward slowly, punching the air out of Bucky’s lungs as he seats himself.

“Oh, god,” he gasps. “That’s—fuck, Steve.”

“Okay?”

“Move,” Bucky commands. “Do that again.”

Steve lights up with a delighted grin, as he rocks back and forth, and yes, that’s it. That’s what he wants. Bucky pants into the thrusts, leveraging himself with heels dug into the back of Steve’s thighs, chasing a feeling he doesn’t understand. Satisfying fullness, an ache straddling the line between pleasure and pain, a spark of pleasure crackling along his spine. It’s so different from fucking a girl—desire spiked with danger, more intense than anything he’s ever felt.

“God, Bucky, you’re so gorgeous,” Steve huffs through long, steady thrusts. “Sweet boy. Feel so good.”

Bucky’s cock twitches, dripping wet against his stomach. “Fuck, Steve,” he gasps, utterly wrecked. “Say that again. Call me your boy.”

Steve’s jaw drops, eyes wide. He sits back, pulling Bucky up by the hips and bending him near in half. Then he slams home to the chorus of Bucky’s howls. “My sweet boy, my Bucky, my good boy,” he says in time with each punishing thrust. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” Bucky cries, feeling like he might explode. “Yes! Holy shit!”

He can’t last like this. Those words ringing in his head, Steve’s cock filling him up, slamming sparks of pleasure through him. He’s going to lose it.

“I can’t, Steve, please,” he says, not sure what he’s begging for.

“I got you, sweet boy,” Steve pants, taking Bucky’s cock in hand. “Let go.”

And that’s it, that’s what he needed. Bucky’s vision whites out, body tense and shaking, as he comes with a cracked shout. Steve strokes him through the aftershocks, thrusting half a dozen more times before driving in hard and juddering through his own orgasm. Bucky falls boneless to the mattress, legs spread wide, the hot weight of Steve’s body covering him. Steve’s voice is muffled and far away, low-murmured words of approval and bliss.

“Steve,” he intones, coming back to himself. “Steve.”

Steve hugs him close, so steady and solid. “Yeah. I know.”

He feels boneless and content, Steve’s breath warm against his neck. They lie there for a while, coming down, settling into their own skin. Steve plants a wet kiss against his collarbone and slips out, taking care as he disposes of the soiled condom and cleans them up with a tissue. Bucky whines at the empty feeling, and Steve chuckles, rolling over to pull Bucky on top of him.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

“M’not,” he mumbles against Steve’s chest, unable to keep the grin off his face. He’s sore and sweaty and not entirely sure what just happened, but he’s fucking happy. Maybe the happiest he’s been in a long time. “You’re ‘dorable.”

“Okay,” Steve says, kissing the top of his head. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, darling boy.”

Bucky shivers and sighs.

“That really gets you, doesn’t it?” he can hear the smile in Steve’s voice, relieved to detect no mockery.

“I like you taking care of me.” Bucky swallows, afraid he’s about to say too much. He can’t help it, though. So much has happened tonight, so much has changed, and he wants to put it all out there. He glances up to meet Steve’s eyes, willing himself to be brave. “I like being yours. I mean, I’d like to be yours.”

Steve hums, his smile bright. He pulls the edge of the comforter over them, crushing Bucky against him. “Well that’s settled then,” he says. “You’re mine.”

 

 

 

....

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I've been experiencing a real dry spell in my writing, and this has helped kick me right out of it. This was an exercise in unapologetic smut, and while it's not my most resonant work, it did serve a purpose. Thank you to the extravaganza squad for their enabling and Emily in particular for pushing me to write when I didn't think I had anything to say.
> 
> xoxo,  
> sd
> 
> p.s. Visit me on tumblr and cry about stucky (this-simple-mind.tumblr.com)


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